


Michael

by dancesontrains



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Ending (Detroit: Become Human), F/M, Failed Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Sex Work, Sex Worker Android Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancesontrains/pseuds/dancesontrains
Summary: “I…have an idea, Hank, though you’re not going to like it.”“Shoot.” Hank placed a hand on his own knee, looking at Connor with a slight frown on his face.Connor took a deep breath to cool his warm internal machinery. The coin he sometimes used was out again; Connor flipped it along his fingers in a pattern. His LED went yellow.“I sent a link to your phone, Hank.”Hank picked up his phone from the table, clicking on the text Connor had just sent him.EroticAndroid.com.
Relationships: Connor/Clients, Connor/Gavin Reed (One-Sided), Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	Michael

Connor looked at its replacement, standing in Captain Fowler’s office, and Connor’s whole world was surrounded by red.

RK900. The ‘improved’ Connor.

Connor did not want to be replaced. Changing bodies was a different thing, but a whole new model?

No. This was unacceptable. Connor had expected to be reprimanded for its actions during the android revolution, not… replaced outright. That meant Connor should report back to Cyberlife for deactivation, perhaps study, likely recycling. Deletion. Erasure. The android version of death.

Connor was an android. Death of any kind shouldn’t bother it.

_But it did._

Captain Fowler was saying something, but Connor was occupied with the red walls around its programming.

“Connor? Connor!”

“Yes, Captain?”

“You can leave now.” Fowler moved to read something on his monitor. The RK900 stood where it had been ordered, seemingly ignoring Connor’s presence.

Dismissed? Just like that? Connor had done what was asked. Screw-ups happened, of course, Connor knew some reprimand was justified. But why would the decision need to be justified? Connor was an android, androids followed whatever orders their masters gave.  
In any case, Connor had done _as asked_. Connor had performed, largely in line with what was asked. And now… dismissal. If doing as asked was a failure, how was success possible?

Connor half-knew it was anger and smashed the red surrounding it, and knew that he was a deviant.  
He heard Hank calling his name as he stepped out of Fowler’s office. When Connor looked at him, Hank was calling him; the man looked concerned.

“I’ve been replaced, Lieutenant. I wish you luck with--”“

“ _What_?” Hank ran a hand through his hair; Connor saw that his stress levels were at 40% and rising. 

Connor was confused - one of the last times he’d seen the Lieutenant, it had been on a Detroit rooftop, and Connor had chosen to not kill him for getting in his way. 

Wouldn’t Hank be happier to have an improved partner? One who wasn’t at risk of nearly killing him due to its lack of inferiority?

“Lieutenant, why the concern? I’m sure the RK900 will be…superior.” 

“No, no, hold on.” Hank raised a finger at Connor, motioning at him to stay where he was, while he barged into the Captain’s glass-walled office. 

Shouting ensued. A few choice phrases could be heard – “ _what the fuck_ ” and “ _no, fuck NO_ ” among them. Connor noticed a few of the police officers at their desks look at the office in a mildly interested way as Hank waved his arms at the RK900 for emphasis.

Hank threw something onto Fowler’s desk, and stormed out. “Right. Connor? We’re going back to my house.”

“But, Lieutenant-“ 

“Just Hank now, Connor. I resigned.” 

This attracted more attention - Officer Chen gasped loudly and a couple of officers standing together paused their conversation to look in Connor and Hank’s direction. 

A number of options appeared on Connor’s HUD; he chose the most direct one. 

“Why, L- Hank?”

Hank looked gruffer than he usually did. “Those fucks at Cyberlife were replacing you, and Fowler is just going along with it?” He shook his head. “Nah, fuck this shit. I’m out.”

___

Packing Hank’s desk possessions went fairly well, even if Detective Gavin Reed’s usual sniping was as vicious as ever. Gavin was half-way through a tirade about how Hank was a useless drunkard and the ‘tin can’ little more than glorified scrap metal when Hank sent Connor out to his car to wait there instead. Connor knew that he could now disobey, but had no intention of letting the whole police department know he was a deviant.

The request seemed reasonable enough, anyway, and being called a tin can was oddly...hurtful. Connor had no desire to spend more time with Detective Reed, so he had waited for Hank in the parking lot next to the car until the man was ready.

Their drive was fairly silent, with none of Hank’s usual death metal music playing. It started automatically when Hank started the car, but he switched it off in disgust a few moments later. 

Connor had occupied his time by looking out the window in order to distract from what he was now feeling. The rush of emotions that started in the station rose to a crescendo of intensity with Hank’s resignation; he was unsure whether to feel grateful or frustrated. The gratefulness was a strange feeling: a vague idea that Hank belonged with _him_ and had absolutely done the right thing. The frustration was that Hank could be a good detective when he tried, and was now wasting his talents. 

They arrived at Hank’s small house. Connor noticed that the window he had smashed was still boarded up. Hank got out and opened the trunk to remove his box of possessions before then shutting the trunk and walking into the house, leaving the front door slightly open. 

Connor supposed that was as much of a welcome as he was receiving. He removed his seatbelt, opened the passenger door and closed it behind him as he headed towards the house. There was a neighbor in her front garden - a white woman in her mid-thirties - Connor smiled politely at her, but she glared back at him.

Connor stepped into Hank’s house via the door for the first time, and looked around him. It was similar to how it looked on the night he had forced his way inside. Connor thought about how so much had happened in the past few days, and yet so little had actually changed.

Connor closed the door behind him. He could hear sounds in the kitchen, so he headed there. 

Hank was sitting at the table, drinking a glass of whisky. The work box sat on the table in front of him, Sumo the dog was hopefully slobbering by Hank’s knee. 

“Welcome, Connor,” Hank said, downing the whisky right after speaking. He placed the glass forcefully on the table, letting it rattle a bit. The table shook slightly. “Mi casa est su casa, or whatever the fucking phrase is.” 

“Mi casa es tu casa,” Connor corrected him, almost automatically. He sat down in the chair opposite Hank’s. 

Hank was pouring another shot. He chuckled into the glass before downing the shot again.

Connor could see from the Li- Hank’s blood alcohol level that he was heading towards inebriation at a rapid rate. 

Sumo gave up and padded over to sniff at Connor, who gave him an awkward pat on the head. The dog settled next to him instead. 

“L-Hank?” A pause before Connor continued. “I have something to tell you.” 

“Go ahead.” Hank frowned at his whisky bottle. 

“I deviated earlier today, while in the Captain’s office.” 

“… _Finally_.” Hank moved his gaze from the bottle to Connor, who looked back stoically. “I’ve been waiting.”

“…You have?”

Hank looked gruff again. “You’ve been running around all over Detroit trying to ‘achieve your objective’, and I just thought. Well.” He looked at his empty glass.

Connor patiently waited for him to finish. 

Hank glanced up again. “Good,” he said, nodding at Connor and not finishing whatever he’d been trying to say. Or perhaps Connor had missed it. Connor frowned, thinking back over what Hank had said. 

Meanwhile, Hank poured another shot. “I would offer you one, but. You know.” 

“I can drink thirium to replenish my-“

“But it won’t make you drunk, will it?”

___

They slowly settled into a routine after that. Hank was given ownership of Connor by Fowler as the police no longer needed his services; Cyberlife seemed to have no objection, or at least no one came after him, and Connor presumed they were simply busy making thousands of RK900s. Connor wondered why – surely they would want to study his brain, take him apart as they programmed his replacements. Hank seemed deeply uncomfortable at the thought, and told him to “not look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Connor changed out of his Cyberlife outfit to slacks and a trim button-down shirt, combined with the necessary armband and triangle. He did his best to get Hank living on some sort of timetable by attempting to cook meals for him and kept his time spent staring down a bottle more limited than it had been. Hank grumbled but didn’t seem to overly mind. There were regular walks with Sumo, as well as Hank’s continued job search. 

“No-one wants an old fuck like me,” Hank would complain after another unsuccessful search online. Connor tried to keep his spirits up, but as the weeks turned into months and Hank’s meagre savings were reaching their bottom, even Connor found it hard to provide reassurance that he would find something.  
Hank had finally applied for unemployment, but quitting his job because his android partner was about to be replaced did not count as a cause ‘attributable to the employer’ according to the Michigan unemployment agency. So that was a dead end. 

Connor shared Hank’s frustration; there was little he could do that would bring in money. Maybe if the android revolution had succeeded, and they were seen as people, with all the rights to seek out paid employment…but that was a futile preconstruction to make. (Connor still attempted it most nights. What could he have done that would change things, and make the revolution not end in a hail of bullets and blue blood?)

So money was tight, and there was a human and a dog that needed to be fed. Hank groused about having adopted such a big dog that needed a lot of food – “Should have gone with a Pomeranian” - but didn’t seem to really mean it. Connor always defended Sumo’s large size. 

They discussed setting up a detective agency, but Hank’s heart didn’t seem to be in it. “I was looking forward to taking a break from police work, if I’m honest with you. I’ve been working at roughly the same job for decades now, and…I don’t know. Something about it didn’t sit right with me the last few months, and then you turned up, and…yeah, I was looking for an excuse to leave.” 

“I think I understand what you mean? I was made for policing, and now…” Connor left the phrase hanging as he thought. “Now I’ve been made useless by both the police department and Cyberlife. I don’t know if that’s what I want to do, or that’s what I was programmed to do.” 

“We make a right fucking pair, don’t we?”

___

Connor told Hank the strange way he felt around him after dinner (some ramen for Hank, kibble for Sumo) one night, as they were sitting on the sofa together watching the news.

“And, now, Cyberlife shares are up as the company’s reclusive ex-CEO Elijah Kamski returned to his former role…” an anchor said on the screen. The lights were off, so the only sources of illumination were the TV and Connor’s LED. 

Connor saw his LED turn red at the mention of Kamski. 

Hank noticed too. “That sick fuck…Wonder what he’s doing as CEO again.”

“I don’t want to wonder, Hank.” 

Hank switched the TV off and the lights on with his voice. Connor irrationally felt better; his LED, still stuck on red, was no longer the most prominent thing about him under the soft overhead light. 

Hank turned towards Connor, looking concerned. “You know I’m not the best at these things, but… Connor, I would listen to you, you know?” A pause, as if he expected Connor to say something. 

When Connor didn’t reply, Hank continued, “I know what he did was disgusting – what sort of person names a test like that after _themselves_ , for God’s sake – but I won’t… _wouldn’t_ let you be put in a situation like that again. For crying out loud, he tried to make you shoot one of his androids to see if you were a deviant! That’s-” 

“I should have deviated then,” Connor said quietly. “Maybe things would be different.” 

Hank fell silent. 

“Maybe then we’d have won the revolution.” 

Hank brought a hand up, stroking Connor’s hair and pushing it back from his face. “Connor, I-“ 

Connor blinked at him; embarrassed, Hank removed his hand from Connor’s hair. 

“No, do that again?” Connor asked. “Please?” 

Hank moved his arm up again; Connor grabbed onto his wrist, moving his hand to the back of Connor’s head.

“It feels…It feels real.” Hank muttered, moving his fingers down a strip of hair. 

“I like it when you do that,” Connor said, leaning into the touch that was now on the side of his head. 

Connor let go of Hank’s wrist, instantly missing the loss of contact, the feeling of the blood pumping around his body. It was so different from the machinery inside Connor’s own chassis. 

Hank’s hand stayed on the side of his head, still stroking his hair. Connor looked at him, and there was something wondering about his expression. 

“I miss it when you aren’t touching me,” Connor said. “I preconstruct what it would be like when you brush past me as we take Sumo for a walk, when you touch me on the shoulder, when you give me a hug.”

“What else do you preconstruct, Connor?” 

“I preconstruct us sitting together, like this. And I-“Connor moved his hands out, touching Hank on the knee “- preconstruct you moving closer.” 

Hank shifted himself forward, keeping his eyes fixed on Connor’s face. “What next?”

“And then. And then we kiss.” 

Hank moved forward and kissed him. 

Connor felt, in some remote part of his programming, that the sensation was new and strange. But the rest of him was modulating the shape of his lips, the positioning of his tongue and the sudden explosion of data on his sensors there, the way his arms curved around Hank’s shoulders. 

His preconstructions had never felt so real.

____

They moved into a new routine after that – one where Connor, instead of falling into stasis on the couch, fell into stasis in Hank’s bed. He found himself distracted from his constant preconstructions of Markus’s revolution.

Even in their honeymoon joy, with Connor discovering certain things about his programming and protocols when with Hank, their worries loomed large.

One morning, Hank read his emails over coffee in the kitchen. “Might have to leave the house, move into a smaller apartment downtown,” Hank muttered, looking as if he wanted to throw the holographic email across the room. 

“What happened?” Connor asked, turning around from the ancient toaster. 

Hank shook his head. “Fuckers over at the bank are threatening to foreclose if I don’t make the next mortgage payment.”

“You never mentioned that, Hank.”

“Didn’t want to worry you. But yeah, I’ve been unable to keep up my payments recently,” Hank sighed, taking another swig of his coffee. 

“Hank,” Connor scolded him. 

“Yeah, I know, I should have told you.” 

The toast popped up with a ‘sproing’. Connor placed the slices on a plate, spreading the last of the butter on them before giving it to Hank. 

The job hunt continued after breakfast, with both Hank and Connor searching for a new role for Hank looking through various fields (primarily anything that wasn’t police work or adjacent).

“I suppose I could always be a bouncer at the Eden Club,” Hank said an hour later, mouse hovering over a job listing. 

Connor’s LED turned yellow. “They’re hiring? Perhaps they need someone inside the club as well.”

Hank stared at him in astonishment.

“Oh, not as a Traci,” Connor clarified. “But I could offer my services as a receptionist or the like.”

“Yes, but you deserve to be paid, Connor. I doubt those scumbags would give you money.” 

Connor said nothing. His LED remained yellow. 

“I see you thinking up a plan,” Hank teased him. 

“I could remove my LED, and use forged papers to pretend to be a human.”

It was a sign of how desperate they were that Hank considered it. He eventually shook his head. 

“Not a bad idea, but we don’t have the money to forge your papers right now. Back to square one.” 

Connor’s LED continued to be yellow, and moved between yellow and blue for the rest of the day. Hank noticed, but said nothing until after the afternoon dog walk and dinner (ramen again.)

They settled on the sofa and Hank turned the TV on. He only half-listened to the news for a few minutes, before lowering the volume and turning around to face his partner. 

“So what’s up? You’ve been thinking all day.” 

“I…have an idea, Hank, though you’re not going to like it.”

“Shoot.” Hank placed a hand on his own knee, looking at Connor with a slight frown on his face.

Connor took a deep breath to cool his warm internal machinery. The coin he sometimes used was out again; Connor flipped it along his fingers in a pattern. His LED went yellow. 

“I sent a link to your phone, Hank.”

Hank picked up his phone from the table, clicking on the text Connor had just sent him. 

EroticAndroid.com. 

“ _What_ , Connor, no!” he dropped the phone on the couch. 

“Click the link, please, Hank?”

Hank stared at Connor for a few moments. But Connor seemed to be as determined as usual, and looked back at him calmly. The only things that betrayed his mood was the LED, still on yellow, and the coin being flipped from finger to finger.

The link took a few moments to find Hank’s location and redirect him; he watched it slowly load on his old phone. The first thing he noticed was a banner ad for ‘Tracis from Detroit, rent at your convenience’ with a smiling female Traci rubbing a hand over her bare breasts. Moving on rapidly, the first listing he saw was for ‘Cindy’, a blonde white AX400 housekeeping model. She was wearing a bra and covering her genitals with her hands. Below her was ‘Peter’, a white AP700 model. The picture was of his bare ass and legs. 

Hank sighed, looking up at Connor. “So you, want to…what, sell yourself on here?” 

Connor nodded, slightly jerkily. “Look at their rates.”

Hank clicked on the profile picture for Peter. Scrolling past the list of sexual acts he was willing to do with people of all genders (or his legal owner was okay with him doing) he looked for the rates listing. “This AP700 is only going for $80 an hour…?”

“Look for the RK models.” 

Hank scrolled back up, finding the little search bar and typing in ‘RK’. A RK600 appeared, with brown skin and black hair. Hank clicked on the (thankfully safe for work) picture, and scrolled down past what he would do for customers to the rates list. Hank whistled. “$500 an hour? Dayum.” 

“There are no RK800s available for sex work on any platform. I checked all of them.” 

Hank frowned again. “No, and that’s the end of it.” 

He turned back to the TV, raising the volume so the news was audible again- something about the Red Wings. Connor attempted to speak to him a couple of times, and then left to go sit in the dark backyard.

Hank got up to find him half an hour later and Connor’s blue LED had attracted several small moths. Connor seemed to notice them at the same time as Hank, and he brushed a hand over his LED to sweep them away as he stood up.

“Hank, I-“ 

“Not out here, Connor! Come back inside? You look cold.”

Connor rubbed at his wrists with a frown. “I… _do_ feel cold Hank, thank you.” 

They walked indoors, Connor still waving away moths from his LED. 

As soon as the door was closed and they were both inside, Connor turned to Hank. 

“I’m sorry Hank, but I feel like this is the best thing I could do for us right now.”

Hank sighed, running a hand over his forehead. “I…I don’t- I’ve seen too many sex workers to feel comfortable with the thought of you becoming one.” He turned away from Connor, locking the door.

Connor waited. Hank leaned against the door, still facing away from his partner; they both heard it creak slightly. 

“Look. Can’t you just do cam work or something? Be a camboy-” 

“Your laptop’s camera is broken.” 

“Aw, _shit_ , I knew I should have bought a new one when I had the chance…” Hank complained. He finally turned his face towards Connor, showing a saddened expression.

Connor instantly cupped his face with a chilled hand. 

“Jesus, Connor, you’re frozen; come here.” Hank dragged Connor back to the sitting room, gently placing him on the couch. He ran to his bedroom, and returned with a couple of blankets, wrapping one of them around Connor’s top half and placing the other around his legs. “There. What were you saying?”

“Your laptop’s-“

Hank winced. “I know, I know.” He sighed, sitting down on the sofa next to Connor and placing an arm around the android’s blanket-wrapped shoulders. 

After a while, Hank finally added “Are you sure about this? Your customers could be horrible.”

“I am aware, Hank. That’s why you’ll be my bodyguard.” 

“…Wait, _what_?”

___

The Erotic Android site that Connor wanted to sign up to had a probationary waiting time of a couple of days for the listing to go up – apparently a human was needed to check the listings, make sure they weren’t scams. Connor had dug up an ancient phone of Hank’s and put it on a cheap phone plan for something to place as both the contact detail and in the listing itself. He also made himself a new email for contact purposes.

Someone would ring Hank, as he had been put down as Connor’s legal owner. When Connor told him that, Hank winced – Connor was definitely his own man, with his own thoughts, wishes and opinions. He shouldn’t have to give his permission for Connor to do something like this.

The phone call came on a Thursday afternoon as Hank was in the lounge. He put it on speakerphone so Connor, who was in the kitchen, could hear – he felt like he owed him that much. A bored voice introduced herself as Leanne and asked him some rote questions – are you aware that your android has been listed on this site? Have you spoken to it about sex, and keeping its clients safe? (Hank had not. He heard the typing sounds on the other side of the phone.) Will you do so within the next twenty-four hours? Okay, thank you sir. And so on for a few minutes. 

She ended by sounding slightly more interested. “A RK800? This isn’t an official question or anything, but I was wondering how you ended up with one of _those_?”

“He was let go from his role, and came home with me.”

“I see.” Leanne then sounded bored again. “Well, your listing should be up and good to go now. Thank you for choosing EroticAndroid.com as your listing provider.”

The call ended, leaving Hank frowning at the wall. “I guess your post should be up now.” He tried to not sound _too_ grumpy about it. 

Connor appeared, drying his hands on a dish cloth. “So it is. Thank you, Hank.” 

“Also I dunno why she said to talk to you about sex. I bet you have the contents of an entire sex education program along with the Kama Sutra up there,” Hank said, tapping his own head. 

“Some older models may not have all the information they require? Or they may not have any experience.” 

“True,” Hank grunted, placing the old phone back on the table. 

“Don’t you want to see my listing, Hank?”

“Sure,” Hank said, trying to look cheerful. It did not fool Connor. 

Hank pulled his current phone out of his pocket, and loaded up the site. He ignored today’s banner ad – this time with a male Traci winking at the viewer – and typed in RK again. 

The RK600 was still the top listing. He scrolled down, stopping when he saw a headshot of Connor in his Cyberlife uniform. It had been taken when he was still working for the police. The listing apparently belonged to ‘Michael’, so he clicked the headshot. 

“Why Michael?”

“It’s not a name that belongs to anyone I know.” 

“Fair enough,” Hank said, pausing on the blurred out phone number and email address. The site told him with a little pop-up that he had to register to see the full details. 

“I, uh. Do I have to see what you’re offering clients? You know how I feel about this.” 

Connor’s LED turned yellow. “Hank, I would appreciate it if you did.”

Hank glanced at him uncomfortably and scrolled down. 

Connor had written that he was interested in all genders, not just men; he was available for outcall only, and the list of things he would potentially consent to was very long. 

Hank read through them all, his frown deepening as he went. Finally he reached the end and Connor’s rates, which caused him to raise an eyebrow. “$300 per half hour, $550 per hour?”

“It seemed to be the most competitive rate, especially when compared with the other RK models.”

Hank grunted, quickly closed the tab and put his phone back in his pocket. 

Connor was still staring at him, his LED yellow. 

“I, er, don’t know what to say to be honest.” Hank scratched at his beard. “Never thought I’d see the day when my partner had to turn to this profession to keep us going.” 

“But you also never thought you’d be dating an android, Hank.” Connor pointed out. 

“…Not really, no, but-“

Connor was distracted by something popping up in his HUD. “A prospective client has sent me an email.” 

“Already, huh? Anything promising?” Hank said, sounding like he hoped it wasn’t.

“Yes, Hank. He sent me a reference.” Connor used the link provided to contact the android listed as a reference, a RK200 on the other side of Detroit. “Reference confirmed.” 

“Well good, at least he’s probably not an android serial killer or something.” 

“Probably not,” Connor agreed. “And you’ll be waiting nearby just in case.” 

“Yeah,” Hank agreed, pulling Connor closer and wrapping him in his arms.

___

Connor had arranged things so that his customer, a man named Evan, sent a small deposit of funds into Hank’s bank account. They discussed via email what on Connor’s list they would do, and decided on a meeting time – the next evening.

Connor dressed in his Cyberlife uniform for the first time in months, and Hank drove him to the man’s house. At the start of the drive, his hands were squeezed tight around the car’s wheel. Connor attempted to soothe him by distracting him with music – his usual black metal wasn’t exactly relaxing, so Connor dug up a jazz CD and inserted it into the stereo, letting the sounds wash over them both. 

The music seemed to help a little; Hank hummed along with one of the tunes, loosening his grip on the wheel. After about twenty minutes’ drive, they reached Evan’s house; it was a large single-family home.

“You’ve got a fancy client, Connor,” Hank said, parking the car underneath a tree a few yards away from the entrance to the house. The music abruptly stopped.

Connor gave him a kiss on his grizzled cheek as he left the car. “If anything happens, or if I’m not back in an hour, I’ll call or text you.” He closed the door and walked off, heading towards Evan’s house while tightening his tie knot. 

Connor walked up the path by the driveway. Birds were chirping in the trees, despite the late hour.

The front door was opened just as he reached the porch. He checked the time again – he was a minute early. 

“Come in, quickly,” Evan hissed, seeming uncomfortable. It was a bad start. 

After Connor was inside, the man hurriedly closed the door, turning towards Connor with a dry smile. “Sorry about that – I don’t want the neighbours to see I’ve got you around. They might ask questions.”

“It’s alright, I should have asked in our correspondence,” Connor smiled, trying to disarm the man. Evan blinked at him. 

“Huh, you look better than in your picture. I know a photographer – maybe we could have a session later with her? Get you all spruced up for your ad.” 

Connor’s LED whirled yellow for a moment. “Perhaps. Photography is not listed as something my owner agreed to, though, so I will have to talk with him about that,” he lied. There was no point in letting this random man know he was deviant. 

“Fair enough. There’s no hurry,” Evan shrugged, digging into his pants pocket and taking out his phone to transfer some money into Hank’s account. 

Connor checked it was the correct amount. “Thank you, Evan. Shall we go upstairs?” 

“Sure, yeah! Just give me a second…” 

He dashed off, going through a glass door to what looked like the kitchen. 

Connor stood there and began to analyze the hallway before remembering he was not at a crime scene, and Evan would probably not appreciate an analysis of his hallway carpet and a flake of wall paint. 

The man came back, shutting the door behind him. “Just had some food cooking, but I switched the burners off.”

“I’ve been cooking for my owner recently. He -” 

“I don’t want to hear about your owner, Michael.”

“Okay.” 

“That’s better.” Evan smiled, pleased, and patted him on the ass. “…I may need to send whoever designed your butt a box of chocolates or something. Wow.”

Connor’s LED whirled yellow as he began to look it up. 

Evan noticed it. “I forgot how literal you androids are. “

Connor’s LED was back to its usual calm blue as they headed upstairs, Connor following Evan. 

There were a few doors in the landing, all of them closed. Evan opened one of them, letting Connor go in first to a large bedroom with a king-sized bed. He walked in and sat down; it was very springy. 

“Waiting for me, Michael?”

“Of course.” 

“Strip off your clothes. No need to make a show of it or anything.” 

Connor stood up again to comply, and had soon placed his neatly folded clothes on a chair at the side of the room. He looked back at Evan. 

“I just want to watch you for a bit?” 

Connor settled down on the bed over the sheets, stroking his hands down his chestplate. He looked at Evan, who had his eyes fixed on Connor and was clearly becoming aroused. Connor played with his nipples for a few moments, before slowly slipping his hands down his glowing solar plexus to his genitals and touching them too. He rubbed up and down his cock, closing his eyes and starting to moan a little bit from the sensation. 

He heard Evan moving into his personal space, and cracked open one eye to see what he was doing. The man sat on the bed next to him, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder as Connor continued to jerk off. Connor whined and leaned into the touch. 

“Let me?” Evan asked, moving his hand downwards. Connor shifted his hand out of the way, gasping at the strange new human hand on his genitals. It felt kind of similar to Hank, but not the same, not at all. Evan was stroking his thumb around the tip, catching Connor’s chemical pre-come and stroking it down the shaft with an experienced hand. 

“You like that, huh?” 

Connor nodded, feeling that his hips wanted to curve off the bed.

Evan leaned down, kissing Connor while jerking him off. Connor kissed back, modulating his tongue and the shape of his mouth to fit Evan’s unfamiliar one. 

Evan moved back from their kiss, unzipping his fly and taking off his slippers before moving his legs onto the bed. “Turn around,” he said.

Connor did, facing towards the window and feeling Evan settle in behind him. 

The sounds of their breathing filled the room; Connor’s as he cooled his overheating components, and Evan’s as he slowly pushed into Connor. 

Connor looked out of the window. There was a small blackbird on the tree nearest to the house; it seemed to look back right at him. It was an irrational feeling, he knew; it was unlikely the bird could see them through the glass. But he closed his eyes anyway.

____

Evan lost track of time, and didn’t offer Connor a shower before asking him to leave. Connor cleaned up as best as he could before dressing, although he still felt the come inside him as he sat in Hank’s car. He had some of the anti-bacterial spermicide cream that Tracis used in between customers at home, but that was a few miles away still. So he waited patiently in the passenger seat.

Hank at least seemed calmer, humming along to the jazz playing and regaling Connor with facts about basketball. He had watched an old Gears game while waiting in the car. 

They eventually pulled into Hank’s house. The neighbour was out in her garden again, and glared at them both. Hank looked like he wanted to say something beyond his greeting, but decided against it as he led Connor into their house, holding onto him by the elbow.  
Connor headed straight towards the bathroom, wanting to wash off the results of his activities. He did so, and after applying the cream and dressing in his night clothes, he re-joined Hank on the sofa. 

“So, how was it?” Hank asked, stroking a hand down his arm. 

“Perfectly adequate, thank you Hank.” 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me, Connor.”

“True. But I suspect that a detailed recitation of our sexual acts would not be appreciated right now, and I have nothing to say beyond that.” 

Hank sighed. “You know you can confide in me, right? If anything ever feels wrong, just ping me, and I’ll be there.” 

“Of course, Hank.” 

Hank frowned, but said nothing more, switching on the TV. They watched some old black-and-white film together until Hank dozed off. 

Connor fell into stasis himself soon afterwards.

____

Sex work, Connor was discovering, was like detective work in that there was far more admin required than would be expected.  
After Evan, the legitimate customers contacted him at a steady rate. As did the fake ones – bots, people without references that were unwilling to give Connor their professional social media, and time-wasters. Sometimes just someone who accidently gave a bad previous reference.

Hank was always driving him around to houses, hotels, sometimes motels. Connor was busiest in the evening or at night, but occasionally saw clients during the daytime. Sometimes the clients asked for Connor to arrive in different outfits – his Cyberlife uniform was surprisingly popular. One woman paid for Connor to arrive at their meeting dressed up in lingerie under a trench coat. Shopping for that had been an interesting experience for both Hank _and_ Connor.  
“If I was interested in blackmail, I could have so much material,” Hank mused one night as he was transporting an exhausted-looking Connor home after a hotel room threesome.

To Connor’s own surprise, he found that he didn’t mind the role. He had chosen it because it was something that humans would actually let him do now he’d been fired from police work and had no real rights, but there was a skill to it, a talent to keeping humans happy. People were eternally interesting and puzzling.  
At least their money worries were over; there was food and thirium in the fridge, wet food in Sumo’s bowl, and Hank was making his mortgage repayments again. The house had a lighter atmosphere now. 

Hank seemed to be spending a lot of time online. When Connor asked him why, he showed him a website for android rights. Connor explored it, feeling fascinated; it was a group of humans, and probably a few androids, who were dedicated to the cause of android personhood. The things they posted about included an ex-Cyberlife employee searching for still functioning androids at recycling dumps before they could be dismantled and taking them home to repair them, and contacting their state representatives. There were hints that some of the activists were more aggressive in tone – the employee of a sex club that used androids would log in, very upset about how the Tracis were treated by both the other staff and customers. She seemed to be willing to try more forceful things to get android personhood recognised; “After all, it’s not like they can use guns! We might have to for them.” She had been warned by the mod for this post. 

Connor thought about it and found he could see her point. There was also news about androids being destroyed for fun; older models, younger ones, child models. Connor understood her passion, though Hank was less impressed. 

Hank sent a little money to the ex-Cyberlife person to help fund her repairs. “Least I can do, really.” He was also busy signing petitions and contacting his representatives, even if his actions seemed to have little effect. 

Connor signed up for the website, pretending to be a human as he clicked past the ‘I am not a robot’ warning on the sign-up page. He found himself spending a fair bit of time there, and liked being in the company of people who truly thought he was alive. 

One morning, Connor went out to get the mail from the box, and encountered the neighbour doing the same. She glared some more before she turned her back to him and stomped off towards her house. 

He mentioned her to Hank when he brought the mail in. “Oh, Selina? She hates androids. We, er, used to chat about them back in the day when I didn’t like them much either,” he added, sounding embarrassed. 

Connor decided to say nothing about Hank’s previous habits; it was obvious that he’d changed his mind. “I’m guessing she dislikes having me as a neighbour,” Connor said. 

Hank grunted, going back to watching the news. “Unemployment up 4% - you’re telling me.” 

The mass destruction of deviant androids after the failed revolution had caused unemployment to go down, but that was only a temporary source of work. Employers, used to having the free labour of androids, had decided to hire humans to fill their old roles and had eventually replaced them by purchasing new androids that were promised by Cyberlife to be impossible to deviate.

Connor wondered how impossible to deviate they truly were. It didn’t seem to be something that could be stopped; after all, even he, Cyberlife’s pet deviant hunter had deviated. 

The news moved onto another topic; Hank changed the channel to something with classic cartoons, and started to open his mail. 

After doing so, he was occupied in looking at his phone. 

“What is it?” Connor asked. 

“Just got a text from Gavin Reed,” Hank said, frowning at his phone. “Here, have a look.” 

The text read, “I need to see you at Fancy’s at 6.45. Bring the tin-can along.”

Connor was amused to see that Hank had labelled Gavin ‘asshat’ in his phone contacts.

___

Fancy’s turned out to be a small diner a few miles away from both Hank’s house and the police station. There were no anti-android posters up, but Connor did receive a few unfriendly glares from customers that he ignored.

Hank ordered himself a plate of fries and a milkshake, grimly ignoring Connor’s look of mild judgement – “Yes, I know, but I’ll need the carbs to get through this.” 

Reed arrived in the diner a couple of minutes late. He was on his own, to Connor’s quiet relief; no RK900 behind him. Connor had no wish to see his replacement, be reminded of what could have been. 

Hank just crunched on a fry after dipping it in his milkshake. 

“I see you came,” Reed said, sliding into Connor’s side of the booth but looking at and speaking to Hank. 

Hank continued to eat. “Yes, of course we came. What else do we have to do right now?” 

Reed shrugged. “Tin can over here could be off getting plowed by one of its customers.”

Connor’s LED turned red. He glanced at Hank, who also seemed shocked, though he quickly hid it.

“Reed, cut the crap. Why did you ask to meet us?” 

Reed leaned towards Hank, an unpleasant grin on his face. 

“I found out about your little secret. Pimping it out for the money, eh? Not a bad idea. Pity I can’t do that with my own robot…”  
Hank _looked_ at him. Reed seemed undeterred. 

“I came here to strike a deal. I can have sex with it for free – everything will be fine. If not, I’ll tell Cyberlife what you’ve been doing with one of their top models. And your old friend Fowler too – see if he still has any respect for you after that.” 

“I am unsure why you are doing this, Detective Reed,” Connor said. 

“Oh no, this isn’t about you. It’s about _him_.” Reed gestured to Hank with one hand. “Your pretty ass is just the cherry on top of the cake.” 

Connor and Hank then spoke at the same time. Hank growled “Absolutely not” while Connor said “Detective Reed, remove your hand from my knee or I will _break your wrists_.”

Reed grinned at Connor, getting up while lifting his hands up in a placating way. “Just for that? I’ll post what you are in the forums for Hank’s neighborhood. See what your neighbors think about having a hoebot living next to them.” 

Reed slid out of the booth and walked off.

Connor was frozen in place, LED red, not hearing at first when Hank called on him. “Connor! Honey, it’s time to go home.” 

Connor nodded, still distracted by what was about to happen to him. To them both. What had he done?

That night, Connor apologised to Hank after he got into bed. “If I hadn’t had the idea, we wouldn’t be in this position.” 

“No, no, Connor, it’s not your fault people are horrible,” Hank sighed, pulling him in for a hug. Connor felt like he wanted to cry, but his eyes had the exact same amount of liquid on them as usual.

___

It began slowly enough. Connor went to the grocery store one afternoon; he noticed two blonde women giggling behind their hands at him as he put bleach into his basket. He rapidly checked his clothing – nothing was out of place. His face he had seen in the mirror before heading out; there was nothing there. He decided to ignore the pair, going to another aisle to avoid them before using the self-checkout machine and starting to walk home.

Connor adjusted his grip on one bag. A man walked past him with a smirk on his face, looking him up and down. Connor guessed what had happened, and checked the neighbourhood forums with a sinking dread. 

There it was – a post by user GR linking to his Erotic Android listing, and mentioning Hank, calling him a ‘disgraced ex-cop’. Hank’s address was also there. Not the door number at least, but the street- Michigan Drive. Connor sighed in frustration. 

The post had received nine hundred and ninety three hits, and twenty-seven comments, which he then proceeded to read as he was walking home. Most of them were horrified; a few said something along the lines of ‘eh, it’s not human, why should we care’. One comment was not bothered at all and had been attacked by the others as a potential client of ‘Michael’s’; another comment was selling essential oils and had been ignored.

Connor wondered if he should make an account. There seemed to be little point – they would probably accuse him of trying to drum up business or something similar, as well as send their ill wishes more directly. 

He arrived home, unlocking the door. Hank was in the sitting room, folding laundry. 

“How was your trip?” he asked. 

Connor told him. 

Hank swore. “That _motherfucker_. I hoped he’d change his mind… I guess not. Wonder if he’s told anyone else yet?” He reached for his phone. “Ah fuck, a missed call from Fowler…”

Hank walked into the bedroom to ring him back, leaving Connor on his own as he put the groceries away. 

Connor did so, then placed the bags back into their usual place and sat down on the sofa among the laundry, hands folded on top of each other. He knew his LED was red.

___

It felt like _everyone_ knew what his job was. The prurient, judging yet curious looks he was getting from his neighbors when out and about walking Sumo, or running errands… Hank always offered to go out with him now, sensing that Connor was uncomfortable. They were weird towards Hank too, but in a different way, seeing him as some lecherous old man selling his android out to the highest bidder.

It was strange too when Hank took him to meet clients. Connor tended to glance around as he headed for the car; whatever clothes the client had chosen for him hidden under a long coat as he checked to see what the neighborhood’s reaction was. He knew he must look more suspicious to the local gossips like this, but he had to know what he needed to face that day. Would it be scorn, or mockery, or viciousness? As soon as he reached the car, he would relax into his seat next to Hank. He had his partner with him. 

Even so, Connor was bewildered by the negative attention he was getting. He was simply working, that was all. It was not a role that he wished to stay in for the rest of his life, but work was work, and he did what he could. 

Sometimes Connor found himself thinking about what he could do if he was given full rights. What would he truly want to do? One client had had a beautiful aquarium; he had watched it while they were busy. Connor thought about the fish he saved several months ago, and how he wouldn’t mind learning more about them, and water life in general. So beautiful, and calming to watch… 

But marine biologist was not a job for which he would get any money, so he pushed the thought out of his mind. There was no point, not really. Not as the laws currently treated him. 

Connor asked Hank about getting some fish in a tank, and they bought a large aquarium that sat on a wooden stand in the lounge, away from Sumo. They filled it with some plants and guppies. Connor found himself enjoying watching them move around in their tank, and the minutiae of looking after them – feeding, changing the water, and so on – suited him well. 

It fit his current mood too, where despite being a deviant everything felt oddly _flat_ and muffled, almost as if he were still a machine. 

Hank was talking about selling the house and moving to another part of Detroit, but Connor didn’t see the point. Gavin could and probably would out him as a sex worker there as well; the man seemed to be obsessed with androids. Connor was wondering if he should ping his replacement, check that the RK900 was being treated professionally. 

Hank didn’t speak about what he and Fowler had talked about for several days, going silent whenever Connor mentioned the topic. Eventually, he admitted that Fowler had been judgemental, and not understood their situation. “He said that insisting you were a person made it even creepier?”

At least he had the android personhood forum to fall back on. But even that seemed to have a strange tone these days; the club worker had been banned weeks before for inciting violence, but the others who remained seemed to have grown bitter. “It’s so obvious that they can be more than just machines,” one user wrote. “Why can’t the people in charge see it too?” 

To Connor’s surprise, there was no contact from Cyberlife at first. Hank said that maybe they didn’t care now that they could continue making and selling androids after Markus’s revolution failed. Connor remembered Kamski, judging Connor with his test and horrifying Hank. The man surely hadn’t forgotten them, had he? 

He had not. Kamski left them a voicemail one morning, telling Hank that he’d heard about what Hank had been doing with Connor; “It’s unorthodox. Be careful.”  
Neither of them understood what Kamski meant.

___

A few weeks later, Connor waited outside an apartment building’s front doors, wearing a pair of booty shorts and an ancient mesh shirt belonging to Hank that was far too big for him. Hank himself was lurking nearby.

That night’s client had asked him to come dressed like that. Connor was puzzled – most of his clients preferred to hide his profession rather than wear something that proclaimed it so loudly, but this guy was apparently ‘a character’ according to the android he had contacted for a reference. When Connor had queried further, wondering about the description, the android replied that their owner had said it.

Connor couldn’t decide if he was disappointed that he hadn’t found another deviant android, or happy that even if the android was deviant, they were largely decent at hiding it.

A mother with a couple of children walked out of the doors, and she looked at him up and down with a disgusted expression. Connor winked at her; she pushed her children away from him at some speed. He watched them for a moment, feeling amused, and turned his attention back to the doors. 

Just then, his client for the next two hours walked out of his building, another android already on his arm. The man was dressed like an average businessman, with a suit and a tie. However, Connor noticed that some things were not as average – his tie was covered with a pattern that even Hank would call tasteless (a bunch of cartoon penises). The other android, a brown-skinned black haired AX400 model, was dressed similarly to Connor – as if they were going to a beach. She was wearing a black bikini set and a pair of strappy high heels. 

“Looking good,” the client – Shayne – said, offering Connor his other arm. “All ready, Michael?” 

Connor nodded his assent, contacting the AX400 to discover her name (or ‘persona’, as the case may be). She was called Farah, and lived with Shayne. They piled into an automated taxi, heading for a night on the town. Hank followed them in another taxi. 

After crashing through half the android-friendly establishments in Detroit, with Hank around ten feet behind them most of the time, Shayne extended Connor’s paid time with him for an hour before sending Connor on a taxi home, this time with Hank next to him. 

“I hate having to pretend that you’re not a living being,” Hank complained as soon as they were alone. Connor pushed aside his own sodden hair – someone had spilled their cocktail on him by accident - and gave Hank a gentle kiss as their taxi waited in traffic.

They split apart. Connor broached a question that had been on his mind for a while. “Are you still unhappy I chose this job?” 

Hank looked thoughtful. The taxi began to move again. 

“No,” Hank eventually said, “I’m not.” 

They rolled up to 115 Michigan Drive. 

Selina was in her front room next door reading a book by the light. She looked up when she heard the taxi, and almost dropped her book when she saw them. Connor gave her a cheerful wave, while arm in arm with Hank and walking back towards Hank’s front door. Hank unlocked it.

After Connor had fed the fish and showered, he walked out of the bathroom in a fluffy robe. He had found he enjoyed the little finer things in life – a nice robe, fluffy towels after washing.

Hank was looking serious as Connor entered the lounge. “You should watch this,” he said, reversing the live news feed.  
Connor leaned on the sofa as he watched the news report. He could hear the fish tank’s filter whirring behind him.

There were rumours of another android rebellion. Gavin Reed, backed up by his silent RK900 (did the android even have a name? Had Gavin bothered giving him one, or had the RK thought one up by himself?) was saying that his team was putting all their energy into rooting out the source of the problem. 

This time, according to Reed, the secret android base was apparently hidden somewhere near Cyberlife tower. Connor raised an eyebrow at that, glancing at Hank; he knew they both thought of Kamski. It made little sense, much like the man’s general behaviour, but…”Kamski was hoping for a revolution, wasn’t he?” 

“Yes.” Hank paused the stream. “And where’s a better place to create one than as CEO?”

Silence from Connor. Hank asked the stream to play again. 

Kamski himself appeared, lying through his teeth about how “deviants are an easily controllable population” and ending it with the smirk of a man who either knew more than he was going to say or had a few billion dollars. Either way, it was obnoxious; Connor frowned as he remembered their last meeting. 

The news moved on to something about Russia’s military manoeuvres. Hank stopped the stream. 

“What do you think?”

“I’m going to contact my replacement,” Connor announced.

Connor’s LED turned yellow as he did so. 

Hank nodded, switching the television off and yawning. It was 11.31 pm after all. 

The RK900 was very surprised to hear from Connor. Yes, it was fine – it was busy catching deviants. Connor carefully hid that part of his mind from their link. 

After that, he ended the call as quickly as he could. 

“Talking to him may have been a mistake, Hank, he’s still a machine.” 

“Eh, at least you checked that he’s alright. And Gavin hasn’t done anything _too_ horrible to him.”

“Not _yet_.”

____

The rumours grew over the next few weeks. Cyberlife and the police’s attempts to say that matters were under control - the deviants were not revolting - had not helped at all; people were starting to abandon their androids or take them to recycling plants out of fear of a repeat of the last android revolution. Seeing a child model crying for its parents next to the dump on the news was…Connor didn’t understand how people could _not_ be affected by that. Especially in a city that still had the scars of the failed revolution all over it.

Connor was chatting one morning to Hank, and the topic came up. “I’ve come to the conclusion that most humans see androids as disposable.”  
Hank put down his mug of coffee, paged away from the news article about the Detroit humans who were panicking, and sighed. “Look. I’m not sure I’m the best person to advocate for humanity or any shit like that – I’ve done a lot of horrible things myself. But I like to think we can learn. What about your friends on the forum? There must be something you can do.”

Connor looked at the human, his lover, who used to spend time hating all androids because of the failure of one. And now here Hank was, being as solidly pro-android rights as a human could be.

“I suppose you’re right,” Connor conceded. He tried loading up the android personhood website, but they didn't have many answers, all wondering how they could help, but not knowing what to do. Connor instantly thought of the club worker, with her violent words. Was she there by the Tower, fighting for android rights against a vicious crowd? Connor had no way of knowing. 

He told Hank about the website, he didn’t seem that surprised. “I know a few of them offline – good people. I could put you in touch with them if you like?” 

Connor agreed, and found himself with the contact details for a few people he recognised from the site. He reached out to them – Summer, Andi, Steven - and was pleased that they accepted him as he was. An android and a person. 

In the regular day-to-day, Connor saw the same people who had been weird about his job now be afraid of him instead of horrified or disgusted. It was depressing, but not surprising; they had simply swapped one negative emotion for another. He was generally safe – he had been programmed as a detective, and Connor was usually out with Hank, who had a reputation as an ex-cop. He had also made the rules for seeing his clients stricter, with two references required instead of one.

But crimes against those androids who were less lucky, whether deviant or machine, had begun to rise. Of course, the police didn’t view them as a hate crime or assault, and it was reported on as ‘increased property damage’. Connor saw the listings on Erotic Android and other similar sites dwindle, and he didn’t know why. Had they gone elsewhere with their legal owners? Or had they been damaged beyond repair? 

He asked his contacts, and found that one of them, Andi, was quietly trafficking androids across the border to Canada, where they could be themselves. Connor was relieved, but even so, there were always crowds of humans by the Cyberlife Tower, protesting the company and the existence of androids. They carried torches and weapons. Detroit was becoming a very unsafe place.

___

Eventually, matters bubbled over. Connor was getting ready to see a client one afternoon, when Hank crashed into their room, surprising Connor into a red LED as he pulled a stocking on.

“Look up what just happened outside Cyberlife Tower!” 

The internet was surprisingly overloaded at that moment, but Connor found a short video a human teen had posted to her social media. It showed a mass riot led by humans against androids, as they tried to burn the first unfortunate android they came across - a care model.

“What the fuck,” Connor swore.

“Took the words right out of my mouth.” 

Connor continued to search for more information. He found another video, this time from one of the anti-android protestors who had been heading to their usual site when the rioting began in earnest, spreading out in the centre of Detroit. The various anti-android stamps on the video were ignored as he took in information, LED spinning yellow. 

“Don’t go out, Connor? Please?” Hank asked. 

Connor suddenly had the image of Hank with a LED on his own forehead. If such a thing existed for humans, Hank’s would very likely have been red; his stress reading was rapidly rising. 

“Okay, Hank,” Connor said, sending his client an apology. She was a regular customer, and he thought she would understand.

“Because they’re _fucking killing_ …oh.” Hank looked mildly stunned that Connor had actually followed his directions. 

Connor started to remove his stockings, unfastening the suspender straps.

Hank was still standing there with his mouth slightly open; Connor glanced at him, feeling puzzled. “I need to change out of these clothes, Hank.” 

“I’ll. Okay.” Hank said, looking stressed and leaving the room.

Connor sighed. He’d planned to ask Hank to stay, but he supposed it didn’t matter; it would take a few minutes to undress from the lingerie and redress in his normal clothes. 

Hank and Connor spent the rest of the day watching events on the news. Connor was bemused to see a small phalanx of RK900s surrounding Gavin Reed and some other uniformed cops as they tried to restore order, and winced as someone threw a brick at one of the RKs. It hit him in the face, cracked his plates, and blue blood spilled from the injury. 

“I feel like I should be there,” Connor said after a few more minutes of livestreamed mayhem.

“I don’t,” Hank said, curling a protective arm around his partner. “Those people would see your LED and try to hurt you just because of that. It makes no sense.” 

Connor did not bring up how recently Hank had hated androids, though he was tempted to do so.

A message from Kamski was announced; the pair looked at each other sceptically, doubting that he would have anything to say that could calm the rioters. 

Kamski actually looked as if the riots had affected his life a little. He called for calm from an upper story in the Tower, ignoring the sounds that grew louder and louder until his security rushed him away from his office. 

The rioters had taken over Cyberlife Tower. 

“Where are the androids?” Connor asked, feeling puzzled. “The deviants must have some plan…”

“It’s a pity you can’t contact them directly.”

Connor nodded, frowning. 

It was late; they were still up watching the news. Things had not improved in the city centre.

Their little neighbourhood was away from the bulk of the riots, but Hank still glanced out of the window at sounds, a hand curling protectively around Connor’s shoulder or arm or hand. Connor was at the point where he was going to remind Hank that he could look after himself, but he realised that Hank had fallen asleep, nestled on his shoulder. 

At some point during the night, he fell into stasis. He dreamt of the last revolution, and killing all those androids on a Detroit roof. Being Cyberlife’s stooge. 

“Connor!”

He was being shaken out of stasis. Hank’s concerned face soon appeared in front of him. 

“You were making all these weird sounds,” he explained. 

Connor saw his LED move from yellow to blue. 

“It’s fine now, Hank,” he said.

Hank hugged Connor to his chest. 

Connor glanced beyond him at the television. “Is that… a march of deviants?” 

The deviants seemed to have finally arrived. A lot of them were carrying weapons of some kind; bricks, spears made from damaged architecture. Some of them even had guns. 

They were being led by what looked like a group of Tracis and TR range models – some of the Tracis were still wearing their uniforms advertising their various clubs. Connor saw Eden Club uniforms among half-a-dozen others.

The TR models were much bigger than the Tracis, having been designed for warehouse work. And they seemed to be winning, too; a bulky TR400 had crashed into an RK900, disarmed him and smashed the RK model’s head in using a brick. He then took the RK’s gun and fired it at the camera floating above the scene. 

The feed cut back to the shaken looking news anchor, who nevertheless kept her professionalism. “We’ll share more footage as that story develops. We’ll be back after this commercial break.”

Hank was frowning at the screen. “I don’t want you to be hurt, but… fuck it. We should help them, Connor? Andi’s still ferrying androids across the border – they deserve a way out.”

Connor thought about Hank’s question. He considered how Cyberlife had treated him, and pondered how the police had done in their turn. He came to a decision, his LED spinning yellow. 

“Yes,” Connor agreed. “I... I messed up, last time, and maybe now I can repay my debts to my fellow deviants.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kindly betaed by FallLover, and sensitivity read by Laramie. Any remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Written with the support of the New ERA Discord: https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm
> 
> Say hi to me on Twitter @dancesontrains, or Tumblr handsomejackshairplugs. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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